Pygmalion's Muse
by TheLonelyMan
Summary: This story combines two of my favorite things: Ghost in the Shell and the myth of Pygmalion. The Major represents Galatea, Pygmalion's ideal woman. I hope you enjoy it! Disclaimer: I will be using the Scarlett Johansson version for this one. It makes sense, trust me.
1. Chapter 1

In his apartment overlooking the city, the designer, sitting at his desk, folded his hands together. His creative process was starting to come together, but he still felt that something was missing.

It has only been a week since he had received the order. As lead designer of Hanaka's Autonomous Division, his job was presentation, to be the artist painting his canvas. In many ways, it was the most important job of all. Yes, there were the engineers who put the pieces together and the programmers who created the digital infrastructure that would hold the whole mess in place, but without the designer, it would all be for nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the interactive screen presented before him. The basic parameters were already set: the model was female, and it's age would have to be around 30-45. Easy enough.

The screen's display presented him with a large blob of plexyfoam. At least that's what he called it. The stuff looked like marshmallow fluff, but beneath its milky-white exterior was the company's revolutionary growth medium, capable of forming smooth, human-like skin over any surface. Not only that, but it could also be used to create hair.

Next to the blob, the display formed a 3-D image of a standard female skull. The designer took hold of the plexyfoam and put it onto the skull, carefully working it so that it spread out into an even layer.

The first issue he confronted was what the color of the skin should be. Plexyfoam could create tones in almost any color, but internal policy dictated that only a few shades were acceptable. No red, green, purple, or blue.

After careful consideration, the designer decided to go with plain-vanilla white. It wasn't very creative, but he was impatient and wanted to move on to the exciting part.

To start, he began pressing and rolling the plexyfoam to determine the size of the face. The end result gave him plenty of space to work with, but no so much that it would resemble a cheap Picasso.

The designer stepped back as he thought about what feature he should make first. Maybe the ears? Or the eyes?

The ears were more complicated, he thought. So he took two large folds of plexyfoam, on either side of the head, and stretched them to form large, curved shapes. He rubbed the edges to remove excess material, molded the interior canals, and put some of the excess goo on the bottom to make earlobes.

The head now had ears, but nothing else. The designer decided to make eyes next. He moved his thumbs down the front, and plunged them through the skull. Upon removing them, he sized the holes until they looked like human eyes. Armed with a black coloring pen, he made imitation eyelashes and drew eyebrows that were full, but not too thick.

Now for the difficult part: the nose. As the designer knew, there were many, many different variations of how a face looked, and the nose was an integral part. It alone decided what the rest of the face would look like.


	2. Chapter 2

The designer began rubbing out the woman's nose, giving it a broad bridge and angling it so that the eyes stood out more. He also made sure to put two nostrils in, so that she could breathe.

But it was still not finished. The designer pinched and pulled the plexyfoam underneath the eyes, making it into a curved shape. He bunched it together, until it collected into a soft pair of lips. A thin line between them gave the impression of a mouth.

He then folded some material to smooth out her chin, leaving behind no imperfection whatsoever. With his palms, he began to spread the foam down the base of her head. He left flaps and folds of material to make a loose neck and throat, before pressing down on some of it so didn't look stupid.

Gazing at what he had made, the designer found himself drawn to the beautiful face. Her eyes beckoned, framed perfectly by her lashes. The cheekbones, curved and firm, seemed to almost extend and retract, as though life was beneath them. The lips were practically made for the sweet taste of another.

The designer tried to shake such thoughts from his mind, but he could not deny that his work was...perfect. Yes, it was more fine that anything he had produced before. He felt like Da Vinci or Raphael, turning soulless clay and pigment into the most elegant of creatures.

The designer checked his watch. He needed to catch some sleep if he was to have the strength to finish in the morning. After showering, he put on his favorite sweatshirt and drifted off to slumber under his covers.

As he slept, a voice went through his dreams. Such a beautiful voice, the likes of which he had never heard before in his life. _My beloved,_ the voice seemed to cry out. _I am ready for you. But first you must give me that which I lack. You must give me form._

The next morning, the designer checked his emails. The company had moved up the deadline. He was to present his work by noon that day.

After looking over the head, he decided to just send it in as it was. In his eyes, it was ready for production.

But now what would he do? Standard protocol insisted that any work produced for the company be destroyed afterwards, to protect against espionage and the like. But he could not help but recall the message he had heard last night. The urging to finish what he had made.

Nonsense, he thought. She is just a hunk of clay. A hunk of clay with eyes and a mouth. She couldn't be alive...


	3. Chapter 3

The designer sipped his coffee, trying to figure out what to do next. Shouldn't he be working on his next assignment?

But no matter what he felt, there was no denying that he had experienced something that he had never felt before: attraction. And he was attracted to something that had no life, no soul, no body...

 _That's it!_ , he thought. If he made a body for the head, perhaps it would show him just how foolish he was being. Once he made her, he would realize that she was not human and would finally be able to move on.

Accessing his archives, he pulled up the head. It was still exactly the same as yesterday, with no alterations. The designer instructed his computer to give him more plexyfoam, as much as it could make. He also ordered it to create a full skeleton underneath the head, calibrated to fit.

After tinkering with the size of the skeleton, he started with the overall texture of the skin. He decided that it would be a uniform tanned pink, with no part being any darker than another. He also decided that she would have no hair on any part, not under her arms, on her chest, or anywhere on her limbs.

The arms were shaped to be thin, but toned and healthy. The designer carefully molded the hands, making her fingers the same muscular thickness as her arms. The same was done for her legs, while the feet and toes were allowed to be smaller and more delicate.

For two hours, the designer shaped her torso, leaving it somewhere between an hourglass and an pear. He gave her carved curves, and a button in the middle.

Then came the hard part. The designer took a few minutes to pray for his soul before molding her breasts. He made them a reasonable size, and made a small nipple in the center of each. His heart pounded as he looked them over.

Then he placed his hands between her thighs, and shaped a small vagina, keeping his eyes open as little as possible. When he finished, he quickly moved before her without checking any further.

Her buttocks were kept smooth, yet plump. The designer also took the time to give her some muscles in the back, which to his shock looked much more realistic than he had intended.

His work complete, the designer looked his ivory woman over. It was then that he realized his mistake. Instead of showing him just how fake and artificial she was, the body only made her look more human. He could feel his insides tensing up every time he gazed upon her.

Finally, he could take it no longer. He found a large piece of cloth, and threw it over the computer. Never again would he give this, this "woman" the pleasure of his company.


	4. Chapter 4

For days, the designer worked on whatever he could think of. He drew ideas for new models. He paced around, thinking of new projects. He sketched. He did jumping jacks. He made his bed and swept out his entire apartment. He tried meditation, yoga, and even weight lifting.

Nothing helped. Every day, he could feel the heat of his woman's empty eyes upon him, even through the cloth that covered her. Every night, he was consumed by her cries of agony. _Why won't you give me what I desire? Why won't you let me love you, as you have loved me?_

After a week of ignoring the issue, the designer removed the cloth. He instructed the computer to bring up the woman.

He looked at her face. She had an expression of sorrow, as she could neither see her creator or comfort him. What am I thinking, he thought. She can't think. Or feel. But the least I could do is give her sight.

He took two small balls of plexyfoam and sat at his desk, using small blades to carve eyelids, an iris, and a pupil in each. When he was finished, he stepped up to the woman and painstakingly inserted them into her empty sockets. This required him to squish them so that they would fit, but they looked beautiful regardless.

Satisfied, he covered up the computer and resumed his distractions. Two days later, however, he suddenly removed the cloth again and brought her back.

Taking some more foam, he split it into three parts. The first he molded into curved hunks, while the second was torn into many small pieces, which he shaped individually and inserted into the hunks. The third piece was rolled out and carved. Spreading her mouth open, the designer found a large, empty void. He placed one hunk above and one beneath, forming teeth and gums. He then placed the third piece in between as a tongue. Closing it, he sent her away again.

Three days later, he summoned her back. Exploiting the ability of the foam to produce human hair, he had spent hours creating a large blanket of black hair, tinged with forbidden purple. With shears in hand, he cut through the blanket until there was only a medium-sized sheet left. This he carefully placed upon her bald scalp, ignoring how ridiculous it looked. Before his thoughts turned hot again, he banished her once more.

As he lay asleep that night, the designer had a dream more vivid than any he had witnessed before. The woman, her skin still as white as milk, laying beside him, her eyes burrowing deep into his, her hair spread out across the pillow, her arms and legs embracing him.


	5. Chapter 5

As time went on, the designer found himself more and more entranced by the woman he had made. He went out and bought beautiful dresses and jewels, which he adorned her with. He began eating his meals across from her, making lengthy conversation. He stopped answering the updates and messages the company sent him daily, and even contemplated running away with her. She was now the only thing he lived for, the only one who truly cared for him.

But something still nagged at him. No matter what he did, the woman remained what she had always been: a sculpture. She did not respond to his words, or complement the things he brought her, or offer him her undying attention. The designer fell into depression and anger, equally saddened and furious that only an art project could love him. He wished that he could make her a real girl, but there was simply nothing he could do. Even the company would only be able to make a shallow android, devoid of human warmth or feeling.

One day, the designer left his apartment and ventured down to the market, where a canal brought boats and produce from all corners of the world. He found himself staring at a statue of an ancient goddess, one whose name he did not know. Before he could stop himself, the words came out: Give me a girl in the image of my ivory woman.

Embarrassed, he ran home in tears and threw himself into his bed, where he sobbed in misery. He would always be alone. No one would ever love him, for he would never find another as perfect as his woman.

As the night sky approached, he walked out into his darkened annex. He ordered the computer to bring her to him. But nothing happened.

To his horror, the woman was not in his archives. She had been erased, deleted by some error or mistake. The designer screamed and picked up a lamp, driving it through the screen. Sparks flew and there was a faint smell of smoke.

As he panted, his eyes suddenly turned towards the window. There the woman stood, her face turned away from him.

How can this be, he thought. He walked up and turned her towards him. She was naked, and her hair was now as white as her skin.

The designer pinched himself. This couldn't be real. It was a terrible nightmare, nothing more.

His hands on her cheeks, he kissed her soft lips. They tasted of chalk and glue.


	6. Chapter 6

He had waited so long for this moment. His fears and weaknesses faded away as he gave the affection that she had begged him for.

As he continued to taste her, he noticed something. A strange warmth that was not his.

Small cracks started to spread across her body, starting at her toes and going all the way up to her lips. The designer fell to his knees, unable to fathom what was happening.

As he watched, her skin began to fall off in small pieces. Underneath it lay flesh of a pinkish hue. Clipped nails formed on her fingers and toes. Her lips turned pink, her eyes brown, and her hair black and purple. Her gaze turned upon the designer as she bent down and took his hand in hers.

Without a word, she led him to his bed and placed him down. She motioned for him to remove his clothes, which he did as though in a trance. His body lay still, but his manhood suddenly grew stiff and tall.

The woman crawled upon the bed and allowed him to enter her. Her skin was warm, and in just seconds, he put his seeds inside. She then laid down atop him, her long legs and arms wrapped around his body.

Years later, the old designer, in his bed awaiting death, fondly recalled how his life had transpired. She had given him a son, stood by his side as he became a great artist, and shown him love throughout his failings and setbacks. As his time came, the last thing he saw was her wrinkled skin wrapped in a fading robe, her white strings of hair in a small bun, and her face covered in marks and spots.

His death was, in every sense of the word, a happy one.


End file.
